recorded GPS locations as well.
Getting back into his truck, he took off his hat and drank a whole bottle of water in one go while turning on the air-conditioning. It was close to a hundred degrees out there now, and he made sure that he wasn’t suffering from any aspect of heatstroke before he started back down the trail. Blurred vision on these trails could mean a stranded truck.
Once he was back on Interstate 8 heading west, he opened the truck up and pressed the gas on the straight, empty blacktop. He reached 200mph much faster than he expected and there was still room to climb, but he backed down. It was a very well-built hot rod truck. Even with the new paint job and normal tires, though, it continued to remind him of the night he nearly lost Cyn to the animal mentality he was currently working against.
Back in El Cajon, he entered the hotel room he rented for a shower and shave. After putting on his black suit (one of eight now hanging in his hacienda room’s closet), he packed up his work clothes and left the room. By five o’clock, he was back in his room at the hacienda.
While making notes of his observations that day, his cellphone rang. It was Orlin.
“Yes?” he answered.
“Are you on the grounds?” Orlin asked.
“For perhaps another couple of hours, then I have plans. What can I do for you?”
“Yes, I know it is your day off, but it would be very beneficial if you could join a meeting in my office area.”
“On my way,” he said, and turned off his laptop, turning on the security encryption feature.
Entering the room, he saw there was a man in one of the visitor chairs in front of the desk. One security man was at the entry door with the door open, and another inside the room close to the patio doors, which were also open.
Two thoughts pounded into Hank’s brain as he studied the man sitting in front of the desk while he approached him. The first was that he didn’t like Orlin very much — in fact, he was quite hostile. And the second was: He’s a cop. Probably DEA. Hank continued to examine the man as he passed him to stand beside Orlin.
“Hank,” Orlin said, “This is Brian, Brian Fowles.”
Hank nodded his head. “Coming up on ten years soon, aren’t you? Has the DEA changed much?”
The man was noticeably stunned, and Orlin was beside himself with laughter. “Pay up,” Orlin laughed.
Brian Fowles, or perhaps Agent Fowles would be more appropriate, pulled out a twenty from his pocket and put it on the desk with a slap.
Orlin snatched it up and kissed the bill. “I love winning bets.”
“Was that all you needed me for?” Hank asked Orlin.
“No, of course not. I wouldn’t interrupt your personal time with that. We made this bet on your way here. Fowles is very proud of his undercover abilities. But anyway, he had begun to tell me information he has on Cuarto Rivera when I stopped him and called you.”
“I understand,” Hank told him. He leaned back against the wall behind him, ready to listen.
“Please continue, Fowles,” Orlin urged.
“Recently,” Fowles said, “Rivera purchased a large amount of weapons. We expected them to go to his hacienda, but they didn’t. They crossed the border and then disappeared.”
“They disappeared while you were watching them?” Orlin marveled.
Fowles looked a little uncomfortable. “Yes.”
Orlin processed this. “Go on, please.”
“Well, Rivera doesn’t have a hacienda on this side of the border and never has, though he has talked several times about advancing into the US. This shipment wasn’t a shipment that would be for sale in the US, except to a paramilitary group about to declare war on the state they were living in.”
Fowles looked a little uncomfortable again. “We also recorded a conversation, which was at first a little strange to us before this weapons shipment came in to focus. The
Getting back into his truck, he took off his hat and drank a whole bottle of water in one go while turning on the air-conditioning. It was close to a hundred degrees out there now, and he made sure that he wasn’t suffering from any aspect of heatstroke before he started back down the trail. Blurred vision on these trails could mean a stranded truck.
Once he was back on Interstate 8 heading west, he opened the truck up and pressed the gas on the straight, empty blacktop. He reached 200mph much faster than he expected and there was still room to climb, but he backed down. It was a very well-built hot rod truck. Even with the new paint job and normal tires, though, it continued to remind him of the night he nearly lost Cyn to the animal mentality he was currently working against.
Back in El Cajon, he entered the hotel room he rented for a shower and shave. After putting on his black suit (one of eight now hanging in his hacienda room’s closet), he packed up his work clothes and left the room. By five o’clock, he was back in his room at the hacienda.
While making notes of his observations that day, his cellphone rang. It was Orlin.
“Yes?” he answered.
“Are you on the grounds?” Orlin asked.
“For perhaps another couple of hours, then I have plans. What can I do for you?”
“Yes, I know it is your day off, but it would be very beneficial if you could join a meeting in my office area.”
“On my way,” he said, and turned off his laptop, turning on the security encryption feature.
Entering the room, he saw there was a man in one of the visitor chairs in front of the desk. One security man was at the entry door with the door open, and another inside the room close to the patio doors, which were also open.
Two thoughts pounded into Hank’s brain as he studied the man sitting in front of the desk while he approached him. The first was that he didn’t like Orlin very much — in fact, he was quite hostile. And the second was: He’s a cop. Probably DEA. Hank continued to examine the man as he passed him to stand beside Orlin.
“Hank,” Orlin said, “This is Brian, Brian Fowles.”
Hank nodded his head. “Coming up on ten years soon, aren’t you? Has the DEA changed much?”
The man was noticeably stunned, and Orlin was beside himself with laughter. “Pay up,” Orlin laughed.
Brian Fowles, or perhaps Agent Fowles would be more appropriate, pulled out a twenty from his pocket and put it on the desk with a slap.
Orlin snatched it up and kissed the bill. “I love winning bets.”
“Was that all you needed me for?” Hank asked Orlin.
“No, of course not. I wouldn’t interrupt your personal time with that. We made this bet on your way here. Fowles is very proud of his undercover abilities. But anyway, he had begun to tell me information he has on Cuarto Rivera when I stopped him and called you.”
“I understand,” Hank told him. He leaned back against the wall behind him, ready to listen.
“Please continue, Fowles,” Orlin urged.
“Recently,” Fowles said, “Rivera purchased a large amount of weapons. We expected them to go to his hacienda, but they didn’t. They crossed the border and then disappeared.”
“They disappeared while you were watching them?” Orlin marveled.
Fowles looked a little uncomfortable. “Yes.”
Orlin processed this. “Go on, please.”
“Well, Rivera doesn’t have a hacienda on this side of the border and never has, though he has talked several times about advancing into the US. This shipment wasn’t a shipment that would be for sale in the US, except to a paramilitary group about to declare war on the state they were living in.”
Fowles looked a little uncomfortable again. “We also recorded a conversation, which was at first a little strange to us before this weapons shipment came in to focus. The
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